


my love for you is higher than words

by happilyinsane13



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU, Fluff and Humor, I take great liberties here, Joe is a songwriter, M/M, Music, Nicky sings rock, Please let me know if I get anything wrong, Sorry Not Sorry, alternative universe, eurovision au, fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happilyinsane13/pseuds/happilyinsane13
Summary: “My friends call me Nicky,” Nicky clarified, feeling sweat build up under his collar.“Are we friends, then?” Joe asked and Nicky couldn’t tell if he was teasing. He hoped not.“With a man like you, I’d like to be,” Nicky said fervently.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	1. The Difference Between

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard Luca Marinelli singing in Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot (They Call Me Jeeg) and I had JUST watched that ridiculous Eurovision movie on Netflix. I went down a Eurovision rabbit hole on Youtube and I came up with... this. 
> 
> Please be patient with me, and if you notice any discrepancies, let me know!
> 
> Title taken from a poem by Nizzar Qabbani. 
> 
> Thank you to nicolodigenovas on tumblr for indulging me and giving me ideas and info.

Nicky looked his manager straight in the eye and said, 

“Over my dead body.”

Andy rolled her eyes, already exasperated by the stubborn set of Nicky’s brows and his tense shoulders. 

“Nicky,” she said patiently, tapping her heeled boot on the floor of the recording studio. “Sending this single as a contender for this year’s Eurovision song contest could get you great publicity. Yeah, you're big in Italy and San Marino, but you could conquer Europe with enough air time. You're handsome-” Nicky scoffed but Andy pressed on, “intelligent, kind to your fans, have a great public image, and actually a talented singer and songwriter.”

  
  


“I don’t know if I want the kind of publicity that comes with Eurovision,” he said, fingering the unreleased album in his hands, emblazoned with his birth name “Nicolo,” and the album title (it hadn’t even been released yet and it wouldn’t be able to if he was submitting a song for Eurovision from it). Only friends called him Nicky. 

“I mean, for fucks sake -”

“Language!” Andy teased, her lip curving up into a half smile. 

Nicky rolled his eyes.

“In 2017 they put a guy in a ridiculous gorilla suit on the stage with the singer. It was utterly embarrassing!” 

“Eurovision is all about that over the top flare, you know that.”

“But I want my songs, my music, to be taken seriously!”

“Fine,” Andy conceded. “Look at the winner from that same year. Salvador Sobral had a beautiful song. No tricks, no flares, and he WON. He got a guest appearance in that stupid Netflix movie, exposure everywhere, YOU could be that!”

Nicky crossed his arms, flinging himself back in the studio chair behind the sound mixer board. 

“What’s your game, Andy? Why are you pushing this so hard?”

“Because if I don’t do it for you, you never will.”

Andy sat on the arm of the chair and wrapped an arm around Nicky’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“One of the best things about you Nicky is that you can be content and happy with anything. But you’ll never go big for yourself. You never seek more because you have this crazy idea in your head that it’s selfish. Nicky, I beg you, do something for you. For your career! At least try before you say no.”

Nicky sighed and leaned his head against Andy’s side. Maybe she was right. Nicky mulled the idea in his head. He was successful in Italy, incredibly so. He had a reputation for being a serious artist with a unique voice. He didn’t sing heart rending love songs because he didn’t feel them. Nicky had never experienced all consuming love like so many of the songs, both old and modern, that topped the charts. And Nicky didn’t write or sing what he did not know. He wrote rock songs that dealt with simple joys and common anger, he wrote a song that had served as a sort of eulogy to his mother after she passed. The ballads he had written himself were usually about loss. It had only been on his past two albums that he had given in to singing a ballad about love. _Only_ at the insistence of his record label so he could gain a wider fan base. He felt hollow when he sang those songs, empty. And, honestly, he knew people could tell. His biggest hits had always been his upbeat rock songs.

He had grown content, stuck in stasis. And honestly it was starting to grow… stale. He loved his life but it always felt like something was missing. Maybe this would be an opportunity to branch out a bit. 

“Fine,” Nicky mumbled. “They might not even select me anyways. And I’m NOT submitting a ballad. Give them one of my rock songs.”

“Uh, yeah, about that…”

“Damn it, Andy, YOU SUBMITTED IT ALREADY?”

* * *

  
  


“What are you doing, Joe?” Nile asked, placing her chin on her roommate, friend, and employer’s head and looking down at his work. His desk was a mess of music sheets that had been filled to the brim with music notes and lyrics. “Still trying to figure out which song to submit?”

Joe hmmmm’d to Nile, not looking up. He was so focused on his music. It felt like such an incredibly weighty decision. 

Joe, born Yusuf Al-Kaysani, was a pop star in the Netherlands. He was successful, beloved, and well known for being a poet with his music and hot to boot. But what people didn’t know about him was that he had a lifelong dream to be a contestant at the Eurovision Song Contest. 

Oh, he knew that to some it might be a silly dream. He was well aware of that. Eurovision was beloved to Europe but it was known for having an amalgamation of the beautifully diverse and also the incredibly outrageous. The more insane the better sometimes. And then of course there was the fact that, some years, you couldn’t tell if a country was trying to be endearing by being ridiculous or lose on purpose so they wouldn’t have to go into debt to host the competition the next year. 

But Joe remembered his father’s stories about his grandfather, a Tunisian singer who would’ve competed for Tunisia in 1977 when his dream was ripped out from under him when the country suddenly withdrew. His grandfather had been crushed. Joe’s parents had emigrated to the Netherlands and had him. He grew up with that story and it burned in his heart as his natural passion and artistry grew and matured. When he had finally made the decision to go into music and songwriting instead of his other love (and what he had actually gotten a degree in) Classical Art, he had never thought he would make it this far. 

He had dreamed of course. 

But he had never _known_. 

But with Nile by his side (an ex-American marine who entered Art school late to study the Dutch masters) as his artistic director and his old friend Booker, a Frenchman who had moved to the Netherlands after the death of his wife to work in finance and ended up his manager, he had climbed the charts. Nile and Booker’s input and direction had been invaluable but Nile always argued that it was Joe’s songs that really did all the work. 

His last album had been his biggest commercial success in the Netherlands. It had even been a hit in Belgium, Germany, and it even had moderate success in France. It had been huge for him, especially because along with his English tracks he had included a very personal ballad written in Arabic. People had praised it as hauntingly beautiful, a song that transcended language. Other European Muslims had said they felt represented and Joe was infinitely proud of that. 

Joe wanted to take that one step further. He wanted to take that to an international stage. One that all of Europe would see. One that his father would see. That his grandfather’s spirit would see. 

Nile lifted her head and massaged his shoulders. 

“I will support whatever you pick, Joe,” she said. “I can make whatever you pick look good on a stage, in a music video, you know I can make you look fabulous.”

“I knew you would when I hired you.”

“You hired me because you felt sorry that I couldn’t get a job in any museum across three different countries.”

“Their loss, my gain,” Joe replied, looking up into Nile’s bright face and giving her a radiant smile. “We make the best team.”

“My point is Joe,” Nile continued, her mouth twitching as she fought back a giggle. “Pick the song you feel in here,” she touched his chest, right where his heart was.

“What if it’s not chosen?” Joe asked and he cursed himself for not being able to hide the nervousness in his voice. 

“Then they’re all stupid fucks,” she said confidently, placing an affectionate kiss on the top of his head. “And we’ll try again next year.”

* * *

  
  


This could not be happening. How the hell did Nicky end up here?

Somehow Nicky was in Munich for the Eurovision Song Contest. Germany had won the year previous and so they were hosting and Nicky was hyperventilating in a chair as Quynh, Andy’s girlfriend and his makeup artist, was applying a light layer of foundation to his face. “Keep it simple, keep it simple…” she kept muttering, more to herself than to him. She was trying to convince herself not to go overboard. 

Nicky was trying to convince himself not to vomit. 

Nicky didn’t know HOW his single had been chosen, how he had won the national contest, he didn’t know how he had gotten this far because by god he didn’t even BELIEVE in what he was singing and he convinced himself that others would see it to. Apparently it didn’t matter because here he was, preparing to go onstage for his dress rehearsal. He would be right after the Netherlands, so he had to make sure he was there during that artist’s rehearsal. Better be early. Germans were sticklers for being punctual. 

What made it all worse was that he would have to go to the Grand Final no matter what, since Italy was one of the Big Five countries. Fuck he’d have to put up with this charade for that long…

Nicky sat up abruptly and propelled himself out of the makeup chair.

“Sorry, Quynh,” he said, kissing her cheek apologetically. “If I sit here any longer I’m gonna be sick. I’m gonna go to the stage.”

Quynh nodded reluctantly, eyeing him worriedly. 

“Nicky, you’re going to be fine.”

“Yeah, well, just make sure they don’t try to put a gorilla or some shit on stage with me.” 

Quynh’s tinkling laugh followed him as he exited the room, making his way backstage so he could be prepared for his rehearsal. As he came closer to the backstage area he heard a song. It was a love song (as most were) and in English (also as most were) but the voice was mellow, smooth, and felt… uplifting. As Nicky approached the side of the great stage and looked up he felt his jaw go slack and his heart skip a beat. 

In front of him, singing his soul, was the most handsome man Nicky had ever seen. He was tall with broad shoulders, dark curly hair and a well trimmed beard. He was stylish even in rehearsal, wearing a black leather jacket that made Nicky’s stomach twist, a navy button down and tight jeans. But his voice… god his voice…

And then suddenly Nicky realized he no longer knew what the song was saying. The man’s voice, if possible, had become even more lyrical, lilting, melting together in highs and lows that entranced Nicky completely. It was a language Nicky didn’t know but he felt something deep within his bones that he still knew what he was trying to say. Something powerful, something all consuming… And before he knew it the song was over and the man was exiting the stage, headed right toward Nicky. 

Nicky couldn’t move, just stared as the man made his way towards him off stage and, oh dear lord, he was smiling at him. 

“Hello,” the man greeted, his smile growing impossibly wider. “You must be from Italy. Nicolo, correct?”

The man held out his hand and Nicky barely registered taking it, staring dumbly into the man’s dark eyes. 

“Y-you are?” Nicky stuttered and silently kicked himself for the slip. 

“Joe,” he said. 

His hand was still holding Nicky’s and Nicky never wanted that moment to end. 

“Italy!” came a shout from a stage manager hustling behind them and Joe dropped Nicky’s hand. 

“Well, better get up there. Don’t want to waste any time. Good luck, Nicolo!” Joe said with a wink and started to move. 

“Nicky.”

Joe turned around and raised a quizzical eyebrow and Nicky began to flush a deep red. 

“My friends call me Nicky,” Nicky clarified, feeling sweat build up under his collar. 

“Are we friends, then?” Joe asked and Nicky couldn’t tell if he was teasing. He hoped not. 

“With a man like you, I’d like to be,” Nicky said fervently. 

Joe continued to meet his gaze, dark brown eyes staring at clear blue-green until they were broken out of their spell with another insistent, “ITALY! This is your final warning!”

“See you later then, Nicky?” Joe asked hopefully. 

“Yes,” Nicky said as he walked onto the stage, not even looking where he was going. “Definitely.” 


	2. Bliss After Ignorance

“You’re staring, Joe.”

Joe was startled out of his reverie by Booker and Nile, both of whom were smirking at him. 

“What? No, I wasn’t-”

“Staring at the very attractive Italian singer?” Booker teased. 

Joe turned back to the stage where Nicky seemed to be adamantly refusing the addition of drably clothed acrobatic dancers to his act. Booker gave a low whistle when he saw the short haired woman at his side, leveling a glare at the stage manager. 

“Andromache is his manager, huh?” 

Nile and Joe raised inquisitive eyebrows in Booker’s direction. 

“Andromache, well, Andy. She’s one of the best in the business, she’s extremely loyal to her artists. She managed in Greece before moving on up to Italy.”

Joe nodded vaguely before turning his full attention back to Nicky, who seemed to have won his battle, as Nicky held his microphone to his lips. The music started, a ballad, and Nicky opened his mouth and began to sing. His voice was unique, gruff but somehow...calm, and melancholy. He could see how Nicky was known primarily as a rock singer in his home country. 

Nile nudged Joe’s ribs. Joe didn’t look at her but simply nodded. Nile was attuned to Joe enough to know she could speak. 

“What’s up Joe? You look… puzzled.”

“Nicky’s song.”

“Oh, on nickname terms with him already, are you?”

Joe ignored her comment. 

“He’s beautiful… I mean, his voice is beautiful...I mean, he and his voice are beautiful. But something is missing.”

Nile turned and also listened to Nicky sing. She couldn’t understand much since Nicky’s song was in Italian (she had been told that Italy always submitted songs in Italian instead of English like many of the other countries) but she knew what love songs sounded like. The song itself, she could tell, was quite good. But the more she listened the more she just wasn’t convinced. 

“Hmmmm,” Nile pondered, glancing a sly look up at Joe as he stood transfixed. “Let’s hope the man can find what he’s missing before the Final, no?”

  
  


Nicky was breathing hard as he exited his rehearsal. It had been better than expected, once he had fought off the idea of having backup dancers of any kind. He didn’t want any distractions on stage, both for the audience but also for himself. It was hard enough singing the song as it was and it didn’t need to be harder. Plus, Nicky thought as he used his long legs to propel him backstage, he was hoping he could catch Joe before he left the stadium. 

Nicky saw he was in luck, Joe was just outside the backstage area in the hallway where the dressing rooms were. Joe was talking to a young, beautiful black woman and a handsome, roguish middle aged man. He had the manager look about him, Nicky observed. He just had that vibe. 

Nicky forced himself to speak before he lost his nerve. 

“Joe!”

Joe looked up and his face broke into that wide, radiant smile that did funny things to Nicky’s stomach. Was it possible that you could die of happiness and embarrassment at the same time due to someone’s smile? To think you were filled to the brim with joy and the need to throw up at the same time? Nicky was anxiously thrilled with the thought of it. 

“Nicky,” Joe said, breaking the ranks of his trio to meet Nicky in the middle of the hallway. “I hope you don’t mind. I heard your act. You have a wonderful voice.”

Nicky, for what felt like the millionth time that day, flushed. 

“Oh. Oh no you don’t need to be kind. You were much better. Listen,” Nicky had to get this out before he lost his nerve. “I was thinking, would you...that is - uh…”

Joe was still smiling at him, encouragingly but it was only making Nicky lose all train of thought faster than ever before. Dear lord it was like he was a busker all over again, paralyzed by fear as he tried to get tips by passersby on the streets in Roma. 

“What he’s trying to say is would you be willing to join us for a party tonight,” said a voice and suddenly Quynh was at his side, smiling and affable. “I’m Quynh,” she said, sticking out her pale hand, her long fingers wiggling in invitation. “Nicky’s makeup artist.”

Joe took Quynh’s hand in his own and shook it firmly. 

“Oh, very nice,” Quynh remarked, studying Joe’s hand before letting it go. “You don’t shake like I’m gonna break. I quite like you!”

“Quynh, calm down, he hasn’t said he’ll accompany us yet,” Andy said, appearing out of thin air on Nicky’s other side. “Hey, I have a feeling you know who I am if Booker’s had any say in it.”

“Oh you know I did, Andy,” Booker said, saddling up with Nile to flank Joe. Booker walks forward and gives Andy a hug and both Joe and Nicky realize that the two must have a longer history together than either has let on. “Now what’s this about a party?”

“Oh you know, the usual schmooze and booze before the semi-finals start. Lots of countries will be there, particularly the Western bloc and the coastal countries. You should join, it’d be good for your boy, Joe, here.”

Nicky felt like the conversation had been ripped out from under him and taken on new life between the two managers. This was not how he had imagined this conversation going. At all. 

“Well, we should definitely go then. Joe’s performing in the second round of Semi-Finals so if he gets smashed, won’t be too much of an issue.”

Suddenly Andy and Booker were walking off, talking about the other countries, what the odd-makers were predicting, and oddly the newest editions to their liquor cabinets at home. Quynh sighed, an exasperated grin gracing her face. 

“Don’t mind them, those two go way back. And god when you get managers in the same room together,” at this she rolled her eyes. “It’s almost insufferable. Luckily Andy has me to keep things fun!”

With that Quynh proceeded to glide after them, playfully throwing sarcastic comments over Booker and Andy’s conversation like well-placed confetti. 

“Um,” Nile said, turning her head towards Joe and Nicky. The two men had gone back to staring at each other. “Well, I would introduce myself but I don’t think you would even register the words I’m saying. Nicky, pick Joe up at 7pm. He’ll give you the hotel address. Make sure he gets back safely. I will be getting smashed with those three. Joe, don’t wait up. I have a feeling I won’t be coming back to the room tonight.”

With that Nile gave Nicky a wink and punched Joe playfully in his bicep before prancing off the same way the others had left. 

“What… just happened?” Nicky asked, utterly bewildered by how that entire conversation went down. 

“I’m not exactly sure, but I think you were in the middle of asking me out?” Joe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Nicky couldn’t help but chortle. 

“I mean-”

“Well, go ahead.”

“What?”

“Ask me out.”

Nicky met Joe’s eyes once again and, miraculously, saw Joe’s answer before he even asked him. Nicky’s heart swelled as his chest tightened, creating the most delightful bloom of pain in his chest. 

“Joe, will you go with me to the party tonight? As my date?”

“Why Nicky,” Joe murmured, stepping closer so his lips were brushing the shell of Nicky’s ear. “I would be delighted.”

“Get a room already!

“Don’t ruin, the moment Nile!”

But the moment was made better as Joe and Nicky’s effervescent laughter filled the hall. 

* * *

Nicky fidgeted with his earring as he knocked on Joe's hotel door. Should he have taken it out? Was it too much? Did it go with his black button down? Dear god, what was he doing? What was he wearing? He should go change… But before Nicky could run the door opened and Nicky was met with a vision. 

Joe was in dress casual wear, what any pop singer might throw on to a party or a club. He was wearing the leather jacket of sin again, but this time coupled with a designer black t-shirt, a backward leopard print baseball cap, perfectly tailored, tight black trousers, designer sneakers, and an array of silver rings decorating his fingers. 

“Fuck me,” Nicky breathed before realizing he said that out loud and frantically covered his mouth shut with a hand. 

Joe threw back his head and laughed but it was not unkind. When he looked at Nicky again his shoulders were shaking, his tanned cheeks tinged pink from trying to hold the laughter in. 

“I usually don’t get that until the end of the date,” Joe said, closing the door behind him and stepping forward. “But it can be arranged.”

“I- I’m sorry. I’m not good with words, I swear I’m not usually this… this…”

Joe reached out and took the hand covering Nicky’s mouth in his own. He clasped it gently between his large palms before pulling Nicky’s knuckle to his lips and kissing it gently. 

“Nervous?” Joe inquired. “I am too.”

He lowered Nicky’s hand but did not let go. Instead he kept it clasped in his right hand and began leading them towards the elevator. Nicky couldn’t help but stare at this gentle man who he met - what - 12 hours ago? Less? And yet he felt like he could read Joe, see his gentleness but know that he was firm, soft but strong willed, passionate and curious. How was this happening? Nicky didn’t know. But he also didn’t care. He just knew that as Joe was talking about his life, his initial art degree, how he met his artistic director Nile, and the heart of his song, Nicky just knew he never wanted Joe to let go of his hand. 

When they got to the party it was already in full swing. Champagne, cocktails, and beer were abundant and flowing. Nicky and Joe spotted their teams easily and they waved. Their four biggest supporters waved back but made no move to join them. They were surrounded by others in suits and gowns, obviously execs and managers of other singers. 

“They’re definitely taking their schmoozing duties seriously,” Nicky remarked.

“Andy might,” Joe said. “Knowing Booker he’s doing the boozing to intoxicated perfection.”

They walked hand in hand to the dark bar and Joe ordered them two glasses of champagne. When he received them he handed one to Nicky and raised his glass, his eyes alight with good spirit.

“To Italy,” he said. 

“To Holland,” Nicky replied, “To us.” 

They clinked their glasses together and sipped. Nicky let the bubbles swirl in his mouth before hitting the back of his tongue and sliding down his throat. The champagne made him bolder and he gestured to the rooftop terrace that emerged from the dark dance floor. As they approached the balcony they could see Munich stretch out before them, beautiful at dusk. 

“So Nicky,” Joe said, sipping his champagne as he looked out at the city before him. “Why did you decide to be a part of the Eurovision Song Contest?”

Nicky had been dreading this question even though he knew it would be asked at some point. He sighed, took a long swig of his champagne for a strike of liquid courage and told the truth. 

“Honestly? Andy convinced me. I’ve never even thought of joining the contest, I haven’t always...um...agreed with the metaphorical glitter of the whole thing. But Andy thought it would give me good exposure. She promised me no gorilla.”

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Oh my god I forgot about that damn gorilla costume.”

“Awful.”

“No, no, remember that one group who had the people on stilts being tossed around behind them?”

“Nothing beats Rock Hallelujah…”

“I mean… it was unique?”

“What about Slavic Girls?" 

"Nile couldn’t believe that was an actual song.”

“Dear lord, she hasn’t even scratched the surface.”

They giggled for a few minutes over the gorgeous, beloved, over the top performances to grace Eurovision over the years. It felt good to let it out, to think that may Nicky wasn’t being controlling. That it was okay to want to have a slightly more serious song. 

“Andy’s looking after you,” Joe finally said, leaning against the stone balcony, gazing at the modern city lights among the mixture of Neo-Gothic and Neues Rathaus architecture. “But then… well, why that song?”

Nicky felt exposed all of a sudden. Naked. So he had been right, people _can_ tell. He knew by the look Joe was giving him that Joe knew that the words Nicky was singing were insincere, that he was fraudulent while singing that ballad. He wasn’t singing his heart out. Yes, he was technically correct on every note but… it was all horribly fake. 

“If I had chosen, it would’ve been one of my rock songs but… Andy submitted that ballad. To be honest I… I don’t think I’ve ever been truly in love before. I just can’t…”

“Identify with the lyrics?”

“Exactly.”

Joe nodded sagely, turning his body so he was facing NIcky completely now. 

“Well,” he said, reaching his free hand out to cup the side of Nicky’s face and trace his jaw. “I hope that will change for you soon.”

Nicky gulped and stepped a little closer to Joe so they were toe to toe. 

“Why did you decide to compete?”

Joe’s smile now had a twinge of sadness to it. His hand dropped from Nicky’s face to Nicky’s arm.

“My grandfather was a Tunisian singer who was supposed to compete in 1977. Tunisia suddenly pulled out and, as you know, has never tried to compete since. He was heartbroken. Singing was his life and it would’ve been a great opportunity. My parents emigrated to Holland and I grew up hearing that story. I guess I just wanted to… give his dream life.”

Nicky set his glass down on the ledge and grasped Joe’s hand on his arm. 

“Exposing your poetry to the world, it won’t just give his dream life,” Nicky said, leaning in. “But so many others.”

Joe felt tears well in his eyes and damn it why was this making him emotional? This was embarrassing but Nicky was thumbing away the tears before they fell. 

“We’ve come so far, my country, this continent. But there’s so much further we have to go. As a child no one who looked like me was readily available on screen, on the radio, and I just… I want that for us.”

“You are giving it,” Nicky whispered, their foreheads now pressed together. Nicky could feel a vein in Joe’s temple throb, was close enough that he thought he could hear his heart beating. His breath was warm on his face. “Joe, I already know you’re giving that to so many.”

“Why are you so kind to me?” Joe asked, their noses were brushing together now, the world outside their sphere just did not exist. “God we just met today, why are you gifting me with such kindness the world does not deserve?”

“I just know,” Nicky said. “I know it’s crazy but I heard you sing and something pessimistic and cruel in me died and I just knew.”

Finally their lips brushed together and they were kissing intensely, desperately, and Nicky’s hands were in Joe’s tight curls, knocking his baseball cap off his head. Joe’s fingers were clutching at NIcky’s waist, pulling impossibly close. The friction and heat only seemed to intensify and nothing else that night mattered. Suddenly, Nicky realized, he might finally know what the love songs were talking about. All of them and none of them were right all at once. It was the music and lyrics and so much more and he just couldn’t describe it as Joe’s lips moved against his, as his tongue flicked playfully against his teeth. God, he was so glad he had been ignorant for so long because now he knew what true bliss was. 

* * *

Andy, Booker, Nile, and Quynh flanked the entrance to the balcony, giving the duo their moment and letting them live in their little bubble of not so private privacy. 

Nile reached out her hand to Booker. 

“You owe me 200 euros.”


End file.
